I was a poor ragged, cold
kidnapped orphaned galley-slave
locked in the bowels of the dark old ship,
the innocent years of eight and nine, when imagination
carried me on wings of fire beyond all boredom;
before my world splintered to shrapnel
cast into the wind.
~ ~ ~
I stood, tar-paper beneath my feet
with bits of ancient linoleum still showing here
and there, the single light bulb above and behind me
which left me perpetually working in my own shadow, making
it hard to see, with my eyes which needed glasses after
the measles, but no one knew yet.
~ ~ ~
The porthole above the sink, so high
that even an adult could only see clouds moving past,
made it easy for me to feel the ocean rocking gently beneath me
as I washed dishes, in mock-terror of being beaten
by the ship's captain if I failed to wash
each item precisely correctly.
~ ~ ~
Running out the back door
when I was finished, down the board I had
placed over the back steps before I began, I knew the
thrill of escaping again and again every day, over that gangplank,
out to hide amidst the rustling giant maples,
to climb and write - freed forever!
(Innocence is a wondrous gift.)
~ ~ ~
R.J.G.

Wonderful tale R.J.G. cem
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This is great R.J.G! A perfect picture.
)Kaleb
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Not even the snerts would touch this one R.J.G. It is too beautiful.
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very nice RJG. :-) ~ audee
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indeed, innocence is a wondrous gift! great piece, RJG ... Drm
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love this story! m.e.